Dazed, Beautiful and Bruised
by Jilly-chan
Summary: Catherine/Walker A reflective story speculating on a potential connection between two of my favorite characters from GW. Set in the series, with appearances by Trowa.


Dazed, Beautiful and Bruised  
by Jillian Storm  
  
  
(Disclaimer: Seeing as Catherine has always been my favorite   
Gundam Wing gal-- and Dorothy seems to monopolize more of my   
writing attentions--I thought I'd write a fic for Catherine that   
I've had stewing on the back-burner for a while now. What? I'm   
using a Catatonia song for Cathy? Well, yeah--she's got class.   
Enjoy.)   
  
"I've got my work cut out with you, you tore bits out of me."   
Catherine pulled her hair back from her face and settled her chin   
in between her propped arms. She was crossing her feet at the   
ankles, tucking them beneath her chair so that she could lean   
forward and better examine the envelope centered on her unusually   
chaotic desk. She had added the desk, which had three handy   
sized drawers--perfect for folders full of circus business.   
Catherine usually had forms littering the cheap oak finish and   
coffee stained rings decorating everywhere. She worked on the   
bills right after she woke up from her sleep so that the gigantic   
figures didn't terrify her fuzzy, unalert mind.  
  
But, when the anticipated letter had come, she had deliberately   
moved the clutter and spent a good hour re-filing the important   
memos. Until the only thing left was the unopened envelope. She   
centered it and re-read the address written properly in capital   
letters. She softened, he must not have wanted to use the   
computer even to type it. He had such old fashioned habits. He   
believed in giving her flowers and writing her poetry, mostly   
archaic, bad poetry, but always stencilled in his official   
looking script of capital letters.   
  
CATHERINE BLOOM, COLONY 18999, L-3 CLUSTER  
  
It was an incomplete address, of course. But the location of the   
circus was always unpredictable. She sliced through the paper   
with one of her knives and pulled out the single sheet of paper.   
Unfolding it, she skimmed over the paragraphs with little or no   
interest beyond admiring the precise figures of each character.   
Any correspondence from soldiers during the war was highly   
censored, so nothing of any importance was every shared between   
them.   
  
Regardless of the content, her eyes misted over when they tried   
to focus on the signature: Phillip Walker.  
  
***  
  
"Your carpet burns and bruises blue are there for all to see, but   
I can tell you've been through hell." She remembered their last   
conversation at a local diner they both had enjoyed since their   
teenage years. Walker had come back after completing his   
Alliance training and before he would return to work in Corsica.   
  
"It's rough sure. But, don't you ever watch the news? It's not   
really like the colonies are being oppressed by the Alliance.   
The governmental structure on earth just needs a little   
facelift." He was browsing the menu, but the smug military gleam   
had never left his proud eyes.   
  
She glanced around nervously, noticing how the cashier was   
whispering to one of the waitresses. The citizens of her colony   
were divided on the issue of rebellion, but hard feelings were   
crossing over both sides of the fence. Walker's uniform didn't   
hide his new rank in the controversial Alliance unit, the   
Specials.   
  
"How long has it taken you to earn your rank?" Catherine said, a   
little tired with the tension and let frustration leak into her   
tone.  
  
Walker barely noticed. "I set a record, Cathy." He actually   
settled the menu on the table between them and leaned toward her,   
taking both of her hands in his, rubbing her thumbs with his.   
"Seven months of training and hard work and I'm flying one of the   
newest mobile suit models ever built."  
  
"And what are you planning to do in that machine, exactly?" Her   
voice lowered to a whisper. She was afraid of his answer. Since   
ambassadors had been coming to space and serious conversation was   
about nothing else, Catherine had feared rumors of war and   
watching the man she cared for swept up in the currents prevented   
her from ignoring the potential consequences. "Kill people?   
Who? Who are your enemies, Phillip? The colonists?"  
  
"No." Walker pulled back abruptly. He dropped his head. "I   
just want to support the transition of a new generation. One of   
'continual peace' is what Zechs Marquis calls it. And I believe   
that's exactly what he wants."  
  
"That sounds nice, Phillip, but is that peace possible this way?   
Please be honest with me." Catherine hesitated to voice her   
opinions about war. After knowing him since childhood, she   
trusted Walker's judgement.   
  
"I have to prevent a rebellion, Cathy. And ending the threat of   
terrorism from the colonies will save lives in the long run."  
  
"You always have your eyes on the future." Catherine sighed,   
uncertain herself. She hated how easily he could leave her for   
his political ideals. First, his undergraduate education on   
earth, then his military training. But she was sensible enough   
to know that now was not the time to fantasize about any sort of   
settled life.  
  
"I'll come back to you, Cathy. I promise." Walker lifted her   
hand and kissed it softly, like a ghost's breath. Then with a   
terribly hopeful smile, he winked. "The best future for me has   
you in it."   
  
***  
  
"Finally you wear it well. It's an accessory." She had watched   
the evening broadcasts and listened to more of Treize   
Kushrenada's speeches than she had an ear for. His promotion of   
the specials as his pet unit in the Alliance worried her. The   
young aristocrat seemed to care more about his movement than the   
crumbling unity of earth and space.   
  
One broadcast had been shot on location of one of the Alliance's   
airbases, she had turned from putting on her evening's stage   
make-up to watch closer. The newscaster was interviewing some of   
the crew near the Special's headquarters.  
  
"So these rumored machines are better than the standard Leos or   
Aries flown by the Alliance soldiers?" The woman stuck her   
microphone in the mechanics face for his moment of fame.   
  
"Much better. Their flight capability takes them farther faster   
than the Aries and their maneuverability enhances their weapon's   
targeting computers more quickly than a Leo." The man rubbed his   
chin, trying to look thoughtful.   
  
The newscaster smiled as if her lips were unable to move from   
that uncomfortably perky statement. She looked anything but   
thrilled by the mechanic's brief information. Then she glanced   
off camera. "Oh look." She seemed to spark with life. "One of   
the Special's pilots is making his way across the field. Let's   
see if we can get a comment from him."   
  
The camera swirled and picked up speed to catch the young pilot.   
  
Catherine caught her breath.   
  
"What's your name young man? You are one of the Special's pilots   
correct? What can you tell the public . . ."  
  
"I can't tell you my name. But I can tell you that you're in the   
wrong place for today's news. Try the main launching area where   
Bonaparte is putting on his display." His words were quickly   
clipped, Catherine knew he was impatient.  
  
"What's going on?" The reporter's voice increases in pitch.   
  
"Terrorist attack." And Phillip Walker spun on one heel,   
continuing his fast pace to a waiting Aries.  
  
Catherine's heart pounded as she quickly turned off the monitor.   
She couldn't watch anymore. She didn't want to know. She didn't   
want to believe that the person who was going off to fight was   
her Phillip Walker. She let her narrow fingers trace the outline   
of his jaw on the black screen.   
  
That day she received a letter from him. It came only minutes   
after she learned that Officer Philip Walker had given his life   
for the Alliance that afternoon.  
  
***  
  
"It's time to change your uniform, and hand it on to me."  
  
"Sis? Did you want this with your gear or in your trailer?" The   
soft voice barely carried over the piping organ music.  
  
"What's that Trowa?" Catherine was rearranging the make-up and   
props cluttering the counter in front of the well lit mirror.   
She hated messes. It was her private war.   
  
Turning she was able to appreciate her adopted younger brother in   
his fitted checkered top and clown pants. He seemed   
uncomfortable in them suddenly, unlike his perfect routines for   
the audience. When Trowa had to deal with people one on one his   
confidence seemed broken. And unusual.   
  
She smiled softly and stepped closer to take what he was offering   
her. She sighed. "Do you know who this is, Trowa dear?" He   
shook his head. "This was your sister's beau, you see. His name   
was Phillip and he went off to fight in the war."  
  
Trowa nodded, glancing down at the picture. He seemed curious   
about the brilliant green landscape with Catherine more or less   
intertwined with the limbs of a young man. They were having a   
picnic.  
  
"Some one was jogging by us and I had him stop and take this   
picture for us." Catherine smiled wistfully covering Walker's   
face with her index finger.  
  
"I see." Trowa said. Not moving. He seemed very uncertain   
about what to do next.   
  
Catherine wrapped her free arm around his shoulders and hugged   
him. "Why don't I make us some soup or something. You did great   
this evening."  
  
Silent, but observant. Trowa nodded.  
  
"And I dream one day I'll find the one who lives inside my mind.   
And they'll feel the same way too."   
  
She had been incredibly curious about the strange, young man who   
had applied to the circus. At first, she'd been surprised that   
he hadn't been interested in discussing the war, a popular   
conversation since Walker had gone to earth. Since he had dated   
Catherine throughout her career with the circus, Walker had been   
one of the crews favorite guests. The youth who asked to be   
called Trowa refused to express many opinions on the subject, but   
he always listened.  
  
"What do you think about those Gundams?" Lance, the   
contortionist, asked while pulling one of his legs up from behind   
him.   
  
"Since the Alliance has been threatening the colonies, this war   
hasn't been any fun. I wish the Gundams would just end it all."   
One voice spoke up.  
  
"They could do it if they'd just come up with better strategy   
than this hit and miss terrorism." An older man commented.  
  
"But it was a Gundam who killed Phillip, wasn't it?" One of the   
female elephant riders interrupted. "I don't see how they're   
much better than the Alliance. They all kill people."  
  
"And so do lions if you don't handle them right!" Some of them   
snickered at that one.   
  
Catherine didn't join in these conversations choosing to keep her   
own council a little more private than before performance jittery   
chatter between the members of the troop. Trowa was off to one   
side, looking at the audience through the break in the curtain.   
  
She liked being close to him. He reminded her of Phillip's   
quieter moments just before he left her. Each time, he would   
stand without saying anything. Hardly looking at her. But   
close. She hesitated somewhat at Walker's serious side. She was   
determined to be comfortable with Trowa's and accept that. She   
wondered how the war touched him. Only the war could make   
someone so quiet. But she wouldn't ask. She knew. "We've all   
been used. Dazed, beautiful and bruised."  
  
***  
  
"And blame is not a one way street, the widest avenue. But cause   
me grief and agony this harm will come to you."  
  
***  
  
She was making her darling brother soup. It was the best she   
could do. Sometimes her presence calmed his fears and she tried   
terribly hard to ease his mind. But something had happened to   
Trowa after she let him leave with the other boy. The pilot who   
had been willing to kill himself.   
  
But Trowa had been so trustworthy. She had given him her trust   
just like she had given her trust to Walker. To let them do what   
they had to and simply to sit at home and believe in them.   
  
Some nights when he had been gone, Catherine had stared at the   
picture of them at the park for hours on end. Unable to look   
anywhere else. Other days, she forgot him completely, not   
thinking about Phillip for hours, until she might see that   
picture. And remember how he smelled. And the way he had   
kissed. And the way that his final image was frozen in her mind   
long after he would leave her alone.  
  
She had forgotten about Trowa too. She got back into the routine   
of feeding the lions herself and almost forgot that it had been   
Trowa's chore before. It was too easy to find a replacement for   
him and that was something she was determined not to let happen   
this time.  
  
Now that she had Trowa back again. He hadn't died, except to   
himself. After losing Trowa lost his memories, Catherine hoped   
he could start over. But, in reality, nothing changed too much.   
The war still haunted him. Losing Walker, still haunted her.  
  
***  
  
"Between the lines I think you'll find lessons learned from   
various eyes. Beauty can turn south."  
  
She pounded her fist on the stubborn, unbreakable oak desk and   
sobbed. "NO!" She couldn't believe that she had let Trowa go   
back to the war. Even after his persuasive words and consoling,   
loving, glazes, she hadn't wanted to let him leave. What if she   
had demanded that Phillip Walker stay with her? What if she had   
shared her opinions that last day in the diner? Watching him eat   
his spaghetti. Sip his iced tea. Breath the same air.  
  
But she never asked him to stay. She couldn't expect him to   
change his ideals for her.   
  
Or had it been the promise? The promises that soldiers made to   
their families? "I'll come back to you, Catherine, I promise."  
  
That was not the world that she wanted to live in, but the only   
way to let it change was for her to trust the ideals of the men   
she loved. And pray that they got to see their ideals lived out   
by the future generations.  
  
***  
  
"So recognize through all the lies, the hero of the hour."  
  
"What's this, Cathy?" Trowa leaned back from his work to see   
Catherine poking her head into his trailer.  
  
"Motorcycle keys, silly. Let's go out for lunch. Since we don't   
have performances today, I thought we could go out and enjoy the   
weather." She swung the door open wider. "Come on."  
  
"What would I do without you to tell me to relax." Trowa   
grinned, accepting her invitation.  
  
"I dunno." Catherine waved her index finger at him. "Shrivel up   
next to that computer and die most likely. From hunger."  
  
"I am hungry." Trowa rubbed his lean stomach as he stepped out   
of the trailer and into the summer's heat.  
  
"Great." Catherine giggled. "Cuz we're going on a picnic. And   
I'm driving."  
  
She had liked having Trowa's arms wrap around her for the ride.   
It was nothing short of a miracle that he had come back to her,   
completely unharmed--and happy even. If she had learned anything   
in the months after he left her a second time it was to never   
take him for granted again.  
  
"Catherine, you don't have to do that." Trowa protested as she   
made his sandwich.  
  
"More mustard?" She held the bottle over what she'd already   
constructed according to his instructions. "More mustard?" She   
grinned wickedly as she proceeded to cover the meat completely.  
  
"Enough. Enough." Trowa smiled, pulling her arms away from his   
sandwich. She felt the utmost satisfaction in making him happy.  
  
"And I dream one day I'll find the one who lives inside my mind,   
and he'll feel the same way too. We've all been used. Dazed,   
beautiful and bruised. And there's nothing, nothing left to   
lose. Dazed, beautiful and bruised."  
  
"You do realize how very, very important to me you are?" She   
asked. Laying back on the blanket, turning to watch his jaw chew   
the sandwich.  
  
"I love you too." Trowa said quietly around his bites. "But   
this was way too much mustard."  
  
A shadow fell across Catherine's face, and she shivered a moment   
as the sunlight momentarily disappeared. Then she realized what   
it was.  
  
"Hey, jogger! Come back and take our picture!"  
  
the end.  
  
  
***  
Dazed, Beautiful and Bruised  
by Catatonia  
  
I've got my work cut out with you  
You tore bits out of me  
your carpet burns and bruises blue  
are there for all to see  
but I can tell you've been through hell  
finally you wear it well  
it's an accessory  
it's time to change your uniform  
and hand it on to me, to me  
  
and I dream one day I'll find  
the one who lives inside my mind  
and they'll feel the same way too  
we've all been used  
dazed beautiful and bruised  
dazed beautiful and bruised  
  
And blame is not a one way street  
the widest avenue  
but cause me grief and agony  
this harm will come to you  
between the lines I think you'll find  
lessons learn from various eyes  
beauty can turn south  
so recognize through all the lies  
the hero of the hour, the hour  
  
and I dream one day I'll find  
the one who lives inside my mind  
and he'll feel the same way too  
we've all been used  
dazed beautiful and bruised  
and there's nothing, nothing left to lose  
dazed beautiful and bruised  
dazed beautiful and bruised 


End file.
